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Mist (R) 
Written by Geale30 September 2010 | 88324 words
Chapter Three – Decisions
The afternoon hours passed swiftly by. Faramir spent them by the fire which Damrod had expertly tended to, but abandoned when his friend returned from the house. His questioning was all in vain and he muttered displeased when Faramir refused to give away any details concerning the King. In the end he had given up and left to seek out Mablung who had his own fire going near a small stream, east of Faramir’s dwelling.
After that, he worked in silence, regularly adding fuel to the flames and watching them devour it with haste. His hands were dirty, covered in dust, and his clothes were soiled. Sweat trickled down his brow and he knew from experience that his hair would smell of burning wood even after he washed it. It was all part of the work, and he could in no way dislike it.
His thoughts drifted easily. To his friends in Ithilien and in other places. Telling Aragorn about Éomer’s generous gift earlier made him realise that he had not seen Rohan’s young King since they both visited Minas Tirith at the same time, three years ago. For Eldarion’s birthday.
Faramir absentmindedly poked the fire with the branch. The embers were cooling down and the day was waning. He decided to not add any more to the fire since evening fell quickly and he liked to see what he was doing. Also, he did not need a supposedly dead fire that suddenly sprang to life in the middle of the night and indeed did burn down his home.
Eldarion.
The image of Aragorn’s son rose before his eyes. He had been ten years at the time, but already thoughtful and serious. Faramir had thought him grave, but knew only too well that he himself had been much like him as a child. Eldarion was a near perfect copy of his father with dark hair and grey eyes. At first sight he looked like any other child, but when he spoke and moved, it was clear – at least to Faramir – that his ancestry had left obvious traces in him. It was also evident that the child did not know how to handle this at all.
All of this troubled Faramir for he knew what not fitting in meant. He shared his worries with Legolas, who at that time spent more time in the City than he did nowadays, and who confirmed that Eldarion was less at ease than he should be. Speaking to Aragorn about it, though, would be a precarious project.
Yes, it troubled Faramir then but upon returning to Emyn Arnen he had quickly forgotten, and one year later when he visited Minas Tirith, Eldarion had not been there.
Now Aragorn had come to visit him and Faramir had somehow expected that he would bring his son with him. But it was not so and Faramir dared not ask him about it.
The smoke that rose from the dying fire gradually thinned. A bluish hue settled about him and announced that today’s work ought to be over, lest he wished to continue in darkness. Faramir slipped on a pair of thick leather gloves and lifted the top layer of unharmed grass from the smoking pile. The embers still crackled once in a while but were falling apart and turning into ashes. He used the branch to scatter the remnants of the fire around his work place, effectively cooling the embers even further. When he was done, he left the branch leaning against a young birch, and then made for the house.
The first stars appeared in the sky and the temperature dropped significantly as he walked the short way back. All around him was the changing world; creatures of day made ready to retire, leaving the woods for the beings of night.
He glanced back once or twice, noticing how the now familiar mist rose from the ground as if it had lain sleeping there all day, and now reclaimed his gardens. There was peacefulness in the air spiced with a little curiosity.
Yes, he was thankful. Work had flowed smoothly indeed.
‘Good.’
He knew they were pleased with him, and how they relayed on him. And that he relayed on them. They worked well together.
Warm lights flickering in the windows welcomed him as he wandered up the stairs to the double doors. He pulled off his gloves and was about to enter when a soft voice to his left claimed his attention.
The balcony that encircled the entire house was a humble one but vines liked it and happily clung to the arcs of neatly interwoven, slender branches that had been placed there for just that purpose. Together with the vines they created a roof of greenery that, in summer shielded one from the sun, and in winter from most of the snow. At night you could easily escape the moonlight by standing underneath it.
“Happy?”
Faramir slowly turned. A pair of brown eyes was observing him from the shadows. He swallowed and hoped it passed unnoticed.
“Yes.”
“You know what I mean.”
He steeled himself, willing the determination he had known three weeks ago to well up within him again. “We have spoken of this already,” he said but found that the strength in his voice was dulled by the growing darkness. His words sifted around them for a short moment before they dissipated in the night.
“We have. But I wish to do it again.”
Maelir emerged from the shadows, and his coal black hair caught some of the starlight and glistened. He was simply dressed, but his white shirt was spotless and his dark leggings and polished boots looked new. “I wish to do it again,” he repeated in soft tones as he stepped up to Faramir. There was no mistaking the determined light in his eyes.
“I cannot.” Faramir said in earnest, wishing he could offer a better explanation than the ones he had already tried. “I simply cannot.”
“Why?” Maelir drew a deep breath. “You smell of fire.” A small smile played in the corners of his lips. “And the woods.”
The woods. The woods that were part of the problem… Faramir dropped his gaze to hide the fact that he had some difficulty looking at the younger man. The very young man.
Maelir came from the City and he would turn twenty-one this winter. This alone might have been cause enough to end their liaison, but there were other reasons far more important – issues that Maelir would not understand but were crucial to Faramir.
“Faramir…” Mealir’s voice turned low and seductive. “Forget your own stubbornness and join me now, will you not?”
Issues such as love.
Fairly early on, Faramir had learnt that hiding love was simply easier than displaying it. But before that, he also had wandered through the halls of the Tower with a blissful smile and unseeing eyes. It was, however, after he had learnt of his father’s abhorrence of men who lay with other men that he had closed down and tried to disappear from view. Denethor’s words on the matter had been few, but the message clear enough, and the threats even worse. When all had been ‘cleared up’ according to his father, Denethor had simply decided to ignore his youngest son’s emotional life altogether.
But Faramir could not live without love, so quietly and discreetly he had sought it where he was let known he was welcome. Relationships had been brief, mostly enjoyable – it was true – and educating. Then the times changed and as evil brooded in the East, not many dared to commit themselves to another. Relationships became even briefer, devoid of real emotion and probably more devastating than nourishing. And, well, after the War it was simply difficult.
Maelir tried again. “Come now, Faramir… This is silly. Take me to bed instead.”
Before temptation won him over, Faramir shook his head and gently placed his hands on the young man’s shoulders. “No,” he said gently. “I will not. Seek pleasure elsewhere.”
Mealir was different. He never hid his preferences from anyone and would have no trouble finding a new lover. He was beautiful, free spirited and carefree. But he would never understand Faramir and would never be loved by him. Just like his affection would never be enough for Faramir.
Maelir opened his mouth, perhaps meaning to protest, but he closed it again and stayed silent. Faramir let go of him and smiled. “There is bound to be drinking in the tavern tonight. If I were you I would go there.”
“You will not join me? For some ale only?” His former lover was smiling again, too untried by life to be severely hurt.
“No. I shall be boring and stay here.”
Maelir raised an eyebrow but thankfully he said nothing. Instead he lightly kissed Faramir’s brow, sped down the stairs and was swallowed up by the night.
Faramir reached for the doors but knowledge flickered through him instantly.
‘Like you do every night…’
He let out a heavy sigh. Yes, like he did every night.
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